For the Fallen Ones
by sir wilfrederick
Summary: They were the ones they sent in when all hope was lost. They were the first to respond to the floods and fire and the last to leave the rubble and destruction. Humans called them angels, and they were good at what they did.


A/N: This is a verse I was interested in exploring after I saw a picture on pinterest (which is mostly described in the second paragraph—unfortunately it did not have the artist's name attached to it so I cannot give credit). I may continue to add one shots in this verse if I ever feel like it, but they would be few and far between.

* * *

The door closed with a dull thud behind him. With a weary sigh, he slumped back against the rotting wood and let his head fall against it. The muffled thud didn't make it very far into the dingy room. The clink that accompanied it, however, echoed and vibrated throughout the small room. Dust settled from a corner by the bed. Dawn slipped in through the lone window, caressing the toes of his dusty shoes.

Using every fiber of his being, Castiel pushed off from the door and grabbed the halo floating above his head. He took the wire hanger off from the coat rack by the door and slipped the glowing yellow ring over the top to rest and sing against the bottom of the hook. He replaced it on the rack to take off his ash-laden trench coat. Carefully, he arranged the coat to hang unrumpled so the bottom brushed against the floor. With a touch of grace, it was clean. His tie quickly followed, though he didn't bother untying it. It would just get tangled even more if he tried to retie it again.

He rearranged the tie and halo until the halo rested on top. His fingers brushed against the crumbling walls, plaster falling away to reveal more of the cold, ancient brick hiding beneath. The joys of government-supplied housing for angels.

Rolling his eyes, he turned and walked the short distance to the bathroom. The clock on his stove read 6:34. Later than he thought it was.

The mirror in the tiny bathroom revealed bags under his eyes and soot that covered most of his skin and clothes. It was a wonder that his eyes were still that crystal blue of clear summer oceans instead of coated in grey ash. His hair was singed in places and there was a burn on the back of one hand. He'd fix those later, after he slept, he decided as he started peeling his clothes off. His clothing cleaned and repaired itself with another push of grace before falling to a heap on the floor. A twist of the hot water knob spat out freezing water in hissing spurts as the pipes groaned in protest from disuse. Before long, steam rose from the bathtub and he turned the cold water knob to counteract the boiling water.

Hot water pounded against his back, smoothing out the aching muscles. He let it run over him, over his hair and face and chest and he watched the black sludge slither down his body to swirl down the drain. He pretended he was under a cool rain somewhere in Maine. He never wanted to see a Montana forest for as long as possible—asking not to see it for the rest of his life was asking for a little much, probably. The hot water probably should have bothered him, but dry flames and smoke were nothing on nearly boiling water.

The hot water ran out sooner that he liked, so he quickly washed the ash from his body, watching the grey water as it swirled down the rusted drain. His hair took a couple of scrubs, but eventually the water ran clear as it turned to ice.

The tattered towel scratched his skin as he dried off. He was hungry, stomach hollow and begging for nourishment. But he was also exhausted. Three weeks fighting the godforsaken wildfires would do that to one. Surely whatever food he had in the fridge was expired by now, and he was too tired to make something. But he needed to eat before he fell asleep else he might never wake up. Three weeks was a while to go without either, even for someone like him, but he had enough energy to go out and get breakfast, at least.

That decided, he pulled on his rumpled clothes, suit jacket and all. He didn't bother to use grace to straighten them—he was low enough as it was.

He forewent the halo and tie, but grabbed the trench coat on his way out the door. Water from his hair dripped into his eyes. He shook it out, water droplets landing and darkening the tan fabric. The stairs were steep, but he grabbed the rails and made his slow descent down three flights of stairs.

The city was slowly waking as people went off to work. Few had halos floating above their heads, glowing brightly in the brightening sky. Most were probably helping down at hurricane Harvey or up in the northwest with the forest fires. These roaming around had probably finished their rotation or were localized.

It was neither here nor there, he decided as he tried to keep from stumbling down the street to the 24-hour diner two and a half blocks away. Hopefully no one would make a fuss that he was an angel missing his halo. He was tired, damn it. His bones were lead and his muscles were quickly turning into liquid. His neck was sure to snap from the force it took to keep his head upright. Mutinously, he thought it was unfair that these humans around him didn't have to feel this bone-dead exhaustion, didn't have to risk their lives for people who would be ungrateful for it anyway, didn't have to try to hide the tremors in their limbs as their muscles tried to remember they weren't trying to force an inferno away.

The doorbell chimed as he pushed the glass door open to the diner. Fresh coffee and cooking meat assaulted his nose. He breathed in deep, welcoming the sign of life. The smell of ash and heat and burning flesh still lingered, but the sausage was a good cover for the most part.

"Hey, Cas," said Dean. He was wiping a table down and gathering plates. "Go have a seat up at the counter and I'll be with you in a moment."

Castiel nodded and maneuvered his way to the counter. The red vinyl squeaked as he sat down.

"What'll it be?"

Castiel stared at Dean. The hot, dry air had probably stolen his voice, or damaged it, or something. He could feel the ash sticking to the lining of his lungs—which was another thing he'd have to fix. After he slept.

"Jeez, alright," said Dean, ducking away. "Your usual, I take it? What happened to you, anyway? I haven't seen you for _weeks_."

"Montana," Castiel croaked out. His voice was just as dry and crumbling as he thought it would be. "Forest fires." The Sahara probably had more moisture.

"Christ, Cas. Let me get you some water before you tear up your throat." Dean returned shortly with a tall glass of cool water, minus the ice. Castiel took a slow sip, closing his eyes as the water soothed the lining of his throat. The trembling in his hand nearly made him spill. "Montana, eh?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, noting that his voice sounded much better. His throat hurt much less, too. "My garrison was sent to try to contain it. I have been in front of the inferno for the last three weeks."

"Sorry, man." Dean scribbled onto the notepad and stuck it in the window for the cook to start making Castiel's breakfast. "You alright?"

"After food and rest, I will be."

Dean nodded once, glancing around the room. There was only one other couple on the far side of the room, Castiel noticed.

"Do you have to go back?"

"Hmm?"

"To the fire," Dean answered. "Or did you do your rotation?"

Castiel shrugged. "If they still cannot contain or diminish it, we will head back in a week. As of yet, it appears as if that will be the case."

"That sucks, man."

He shrugged again. "It is what it is. They have many garrisons trying to contain it. It is spreading quite quickly. That, and with Hurricane Harvey, and now Irma and Jose and Katia fast approaching, we are spread thin."

"Again: that sucks."

Castiel didn't have anything to say to that, so he sipped on his water. At least the tremors weren't nearly so bad by now.

"You at least took a shower. Have you slept yet?"

"No."

"You're quite the chatterbox this morning, Cas."

He cocked his head to one side, but he almost tipped over so he rested his elbow on the counter and laid his head in his hand. "My apologies, Dean. I have neither ate nor slept in three weeks. My grace is diminished."

Dean nodded in understanding. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you. After my meal I am going back to my apartment to sleep."

"That ain't an apartment, Cas," Dean replied, refilling his empty cup with water from an ice-cold pitcher. A few ice chips splashed into the cup. "Wanna stay at my place for a few nights? My bed is surely better than that cardboard crap you sleep on."

Castiel shook his head, murmuring a thanks as he picked up his glass and took another sip. "It isn't made out of cardboard, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Coulda fooled me."

But Castiel couldn't find it in himself to respond. His eyelids were heavy, and his head felt like it had tripled in mass. His eyes slid close without his permission, but that was okay. He was just resting them. Just for a moment...

A hand touched his. He snapped awake, reaching out for the threat—

Oh. Just Dean. Who was smiling that patient, warm smile at him that was soft around his bright green eyes and light along his lips, freckles just faintly moving high on his cheeks.

"Easy there, Cas. Your food is ready."

Pancakes, eggs over-easy, hash browns, and a thick piece of sausage. Castiel picked up his fork, trying to keep the trembling at bay. The smell was invigorating, at least. Ash had outdone himself, that was for sure. After a few bites, energy returned to him and he picked up his pace, not bothering to slather anything with ketchup or syrup.

As soon as his fork scraped against the ceramic with a sharp screech, Dean was there to take it away and put down another plate, same as before. Castiel devoured it even quicker than before, groaning as his stomach protested being so full. But he continued, knowing that he needed the nourishment more than anything. Even if he didn't need to eat or sleep as much as humans, he still needed _something_. Going without for so long was pushing it.

Once that plate was finished, Castiel sat back with a groan. He quickly tipped back forward when he remembered the seat had no back. His stomach protested, but he breathed deeply through it.

"Alrighty, Cas," Dean said from behind him. He grabbed his elbow and helped heave him up. "I'm taking you home, to my bed where it's comfy."

"But your shift—"

"Ellen is letting me leave for thirty minutes to take care of you. No, no payment today."

"But Dean—"

"Ellen said."

Castiel sent him a wry smile. "Well, if Ellen said, who am I to argue with her?"

"Yeah," muttered Dean with that soft smile again. "Let's go, Cas."

They stumbled out to Dean's precious Impala. Dean deposited him in the passenger seat. Castiel listed to one side as Dean buckled him in. His head lolled on his shoulders to rest against the window once Dean had closed the door.

The next he knew, Dean was pulling him out of the car. He muttered something that was probably unfavorable, but Dean just laughed at him and pulled his arm over his shoulders. How they made it inside, Castiel wasn't sure. But then he was on something so soft and wonderful.

Clouds, surely.

Something tugged his shoes off. Large hands pulled him back up to undress him. Castiel let it happen, eyes closed, waiting for the movement to stop so he could fall asleep.

Words were murmured into his ear, but he couldn't make them out. There was a wall of cotton around him, muffling sounds and making everything softer, gentler. Hands pushed and pulled him around until soft, warm blankets were tucked under his chin. Something slightly moist brushed against his forehead. It was comforting. Fingers brushed through his hair.

"Sleep, Cas."

* * *

Castiel woke slowly, coming into consciousness without opening his eyes. He was comfortable, which was sort of bizarre. His bed was supposed to be firm and covered in sheets that should have been thrown out years ago. These sheets were way too soft against his bare skin to be his.

Dean's house. Right.

His eyes fluttered open, protesting being awake. The curtains were closed, but were framed in bright light. It was still daytime, apparently.

Groaning, Castiel pushed the blankets away and pushed himself up onto one elbow to reach for his phone on the bedside table. His hand had been bandaged as he'd slept, and Castiel couldn't stop the small smile at how much care Dean showed him. The clock read 2:46 PM. So he hadn't actually slept all that long, unfortunately. Less than seven hours, anyway. But, no, he was thirsty. And his breathing didn't sound the greatest.

With a sigh, Castiel pushed himself the rest of the way up. He was so tempted to fall back to sleep, but he needed water and to fix his lungs. Letting the ash sit for much longer certainly wouldn't do any favors.

There was a note on the table, he finally noticed when he put his phone back down. It simply said, _Help yourself to whatever if you wake up before I get home. I already told Michael where you are. –Dean_ in his messy scrawl. Castiel couldn't help smiling at that. Dean was very precious to him, and it always warmed his heart when Dean was so kind to him.

But first, water.

Clad only in boxers, Castiel left the lights off as he walked through the house. He peeled off the bandage as his light footfalls padded across the wood floors. The curtains in the kitchen and living room were open, letting in the early afternoon light. He pulled out a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, only just remembering to sip it instead of gulp it down. The glass clinked when he set it back down beside the sink. He might need another glass later. The bandage made its way to the trashcan under the sink.

Right. His lungs. He could feel the ash sitting heavy in his chest, making his breath wheeze just slightly. Focusing his grace on his lungs, he closed his eyes and rested his hip against the counter to keep him up. If he laid back down before he finished this he would fall asleep before he could try to fix it.

Deep breath in. Hold it. Command his grace to eradicate the ash, pull it away from the walls and disappear from his body.

Deep breath out. No wheezing. Good.

Another glass of water, a stop to the toilet, then blissful sleep.

* * *

The next time he woke, there was a lack of light around the curtains and a warm arm slung over his side, a hand loosely holding his, but pressed tight against his chest. There was a warm body behind him, skin slightly sticking to him as he shifted. A groan sounded behind him as the arm tugged him closer. Castiel settled back, leaning against the warm chest behind him.

"Dean," he intoned, trying to move the hand away. It was very stubborn and pressed even closer. "Dean."

"Uhng," was the eloquent reply.

"I need some water."

A moment of silence, then a soft sigh before the arm loosened but did not move. "On the table next to you."

"I also need to urinate."

A heavier sigh that time slid through the room. "Fine." His arm pulled away so Castiel could get up. "Do you want me to make you some food?"

"I'm fine for now. Thank you, Dean."

Castiel sat up, carefully reaching out for the promised glass of water. Once it was empty, he stood and made his way to the bathroom across the hall. It was quiet, dark, probably much later than he thought it was. He wondered if maybe he _should_ eat again, or if he should just wait for the morning. He felt mostly better—more rested, at least. Still thirsty, though. The water was cool on the cotton of his tongue and the sandpaper of his throat. In his hurry, a few drops escaped and rolled down his chin, tickling his neck, pooling at the middle of his collarbone. He filled up the cup again, but did not drink. He'd save it for later. A rough pass of his hand rid his chin and neck of the water. A dab of the hand towel wicked away from the water droplets running down his chest.

Back in the bedroom, he could just barely make out the bed. One step into the room, three steps to the left and his knee bumped the mattress. He climbed back in, hoping he wouldn't jostle Dean who had moved to lay on his stomach.

As soon as Castiel had settled the warm, soft blankets around him as he laid on his back, Dean's arm came up and rested along the length of his chest. Dean shuffled closer until his head rested on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel managed to maneuver him enough to get his arm into a more comfortable position, wrapped around him and pulling him closer. The hand on his chest lazily swirled patterns onto his skin, leaving tingling heat in its wake.

"I was thinkin'," said Dean, quiet, even though they were the only two in the universe.

"Yes?"

But he was quiet for several moments, just swirling his fingers on Castiel's skin. "You could stay with me. Yanno, move in."

"How awake are you?"

"Awake enough for this conversation." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I've been thinking about this for a while. You can't say that you like that hell hole better than this."

Castiel hummed in response, trying to decide what best to say. Of course, it was possible, but he couldn't burden Dean like that. Dean was such a kind, selfless man who worked too hard for little return. Castiel couldn't take his charity like that, and he told Dean as much.

"It's not charity," Dean spat out. "I love you, okay? You know I do. Why wouldn't I want to be with you more?"

"My stipend is only fifty-two hundred dollars a year," Castiel replied. "One hundred dollars a week. And I cannot easily get another job because of my status—"

"My house is paid for already," Dean said quickly, "and utilities wouldn't be that much. Maybe, like, fifty bucks on your part. You can buy half the groceries. We could make it work out."

"The Council—"

"Screw the Council."

"Dean," Castiel sighed, pulling him closer. "Human-Angel pairs are rare, even more so in a situation like ours. The Council would not like that we are not wed."

A beat passed, then two. Then, "So marry me."

Another beat. Two. Three. "Dean?"

"Look, I—" Dean scrambled up and fumbled around in the dark. A drawer opened. There was a clatter as Dean shuffled things around. "I even bought a ring. I was gonna do something romantic—" then he was back in Cas' space, pushing a small cardboard box into his ribcage. "I know it's not much but I thought it was kinda cool and I've been wanting to ask for a while and—"

"Dean." Castiel fumbled for the lamp, knocking something over and sending his phone skittering across the floor. Finally, he found the switch and the room was bathed in a soft yellow light. Dean was half kneeling as best he could on the memory foam, a small cardboard box clutched tight in hand, eyes wide. "Dean," Castiel said again. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

"There's paperwork," Dean answered. "I know. I've already got it all filled out. I've talked to Michael and he says it's okay and that he'll sign whatever we need him to—"

Castiel grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Dean toppled over, landing on Castiel with a short laugh before he was kissed breathless. Blindly, Castiel stole the box and shoved the ring on his finger.

He'd look at it later. Right now, he had a fiancé to appreciate.

* * *

The next morning, Castiel woke to soft fingers tracing his palm, running over his fingers and pausing at the metal that rested on one. Dean was curled around him, head rested on Castiel's chest as the soft morning light seeped past the edges of the curtain.

"Good morning, Dean."

"Morning, Cas," he returned just as softly. He was still running his fingers over the band.

Castiel raised his hand to get a look at it. It was a dark grey with a green band in the middle. Almost the color of Dean's eyes. Castiel smiled at that. It was almost the perfect shade, though maybe just a touch darker than Dean's. He laced his fingers with Deans and brought them to his lips so he could kiss Dean's knuckles.

"Does this mean we need to talk about the wedding now?" asked Dean.

"We can," Castiel agreed, kissing his fingers again. "Do you have to work today?"

"Nah." If possible, Dean cuddled closer to him.

"And you're sure?" asked Castiel. "You do realize that I will live much longer than you, that you will continue to age at a much quicker rate than I?"

"Will you still have me when I'm old and feeble?"

"Of course."

"I knew that as soon as we started..." Dean huffed, though it sounded slightly humorous. "Whatever this is. Relationship? Whatever. I knew the... consequences, I believe is what Michael called them."

"As long as you are aware."

"We probably can't plan on a specific date because of your job, though." Dean said instead of continuing the topic. He sighed, tracing patterns against his skin with his free hand. "It doesn't have to be anything big, though, right?"

"I don't have many friends, and no family."

Dean hummed—the breath tickled the small hairs on Castiel's chest. "I'll see if my brother can marry us. Maybe when you get back from your next rotation we can get everyone over. Wedding in the backyard, small dinner. Something like that?"

"But, Dean." Castiel sighed, trying to buy time to choose his words. "We have to send the paperwork to the Council, first, and they have to approve it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." It was Dean's turn to sigh. Castiel turned his attention to the curtain that was letting in soft light, bathing the room in a warm glow. "I just need your signature and you to check over a few things and we can send it today if you want. We can get Michael to sign them, too. That might get us approved quicker."

"I'll call him in a while," Castiel answered, rolling over so he caged Dean against the bed. He loved the smug grin Dean gave him before he swooped down and captured his lips in a hungry kiss.

* * *

The inferno stole his breath away as it ate and destroyed everything in its path. It was hot—almost unbearably so, yet he kept his coat on. His coat had enough grace pumped into it to help protect him as much as it could, but it did nothing against the heat on his face and palms.

They had nearly contained it, thank God. Now they just needed to try to put it out. Even the humans were helping where they could, dousing the worst of it from helicopters up above and with trucks on the sides.

Castiel, however, stood toe-to-toe with the inferno, flames licking his palms and sweat stinging his eyes, which he could not brush away. A flame licked out to his right, and with a push of grace he had it contained again. He could see Anna a few hundred feet away, red hair swirling around her like her own inferno.

The sound was deafening. The inferno roared and screamed and crackled around them, nearly swallowing them whole. There was nothing to smell—he almost wondered if the hot air had destroyed some of his senses. Black ash whirled around him, dancing through the air. Embers burned bright at his feet, charring the bottom of his shoes.

He was tired. They'd been here for two weeks already. He needed to put it out so he could get back to Dean, so they could spend the rest of Dean's life together. Hopefully the paperwork had gone through and they could do the ceremony a few days after he got back and had time to rest.

Something hissed to his left.

Finally, a fire truck was able to help his area. It was large and imposing, the entire back part filled with hundreds of gallons of water. Steam billowed around him as the truck aimed near him. It hissed and screamed just under the roar of the inferno.

With arms spread wide, Castiel was able to take a step forward.


End file.
